Face
by GeminiJade01
Summary: Hermione deals with the aftermath of the war. Mainly centered around Hermione, with undertones of GinnyHermione friendship and RH romance. Character Death. A bit angsty but a somewhat happy ending.


Authors Note: My second fic! YaY! Constructive criticism is welcome, and flames will be used to roast my marshmellows. I don't know much about the wizadry medical stuff, so just go with the flow. As said in the description, this is really a Hermione fic, with undertones of Ginny/Hermione friendship, and Ron/Hermione romance.

Disclaimer: Not mine...sadly.

_Hold me closer, tiny dancer,  
Count the headlights on the highway.  
Lay me down in sheets of linen, _

_You had a busy day today. _

_-Elton John, Tiny Dancer._

You know what it's like now to look like in the face.

And it scares you, because you know just how ugly and twisted and dark it is.

"_Don't tell me,"_ **Your mother had said.** _"I don't want to know."_

You thought it somewhat childish for her to say that, but at the same time you understood.

No one _really_ wants to know what happened. That you could hear Ron crying and begging you to wake up. Ginny was bleeding to death right beside you. But you couldn't see, and you couldn't move, and you're in so much pain that you can't begin to imagine, let alone describe. And you're sure you're dying, because this must be what dying feels like. People are screaming at you (_Can you hear me? It's going to be okay…_) and you smell fire and blood. And all the while, your best friend is dying right beside you…**and you can't save her.**

All you can do is pray to God that help will come. And it does.

It's too late though. And even though you didn't let yourself believe it at the time, you know that Ginny's too far gone, and that maybe you are too. But you're scared to die, because there is still your sister and friends that you have to see grow up. Your writing and future filled with dancing (_your secret pleasure_) that you've worked so hard to get…and it all might be over.

"_Worst thing I've seen…so much blood on them…not sure if they'll make it." _

_They take you to St. Mungo's and lay you on a metal table. You can see now. They start cutting off your clothes, and they go for your ring that Ron gave you for Christmas with those evil scissors, and you scream at them that they don't understand._

You somehow take it off yourself and hold it tight against your heart.

They start speaking to each other, thinking you can't hear. You catch phrases like 'surgery', 'going to scar', and 'with that Weasley girl'. You start feeling very warm, and they tell you in frantic voices to breath deep. You go silently, and you know if you ever come back, she won't be here anymore.

When you wake up two weeks later, they tell you Ginny's dead. It's not a surprise, but you cry anyway. Harry would tell you later that it baffled them why she died instead of you because you were so worse off. Ron looks at you with tears in his eyes (_and you **know** he still thinks you're the most beautiful girl to walk the planet_) and he tells you he loves you. You blink away your own tears and say it back, and he seems to be taking this all very well. The doctor tells you and your family that you're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. You scoff and laugh. You tell him that if **he** had gotten his body mangled and if **his **best friend died, he would too.

Your family stares at you, and the doctor shifts uncomfortably.

Your mother looks at you with bright eyes and asked if you ever heard her talk to you while you were asleep. You lie, and smile a little.

You can't dance anymore, but you know things have a way of working out, even if you're not happy.

You keep to yourself more than you ever did, and you have nightmares. Of piercing screams and bloody wands and Ron telling you to wake up. Harry talks to you, and you can tell by his voice that he's the only one who knows how lonely you feel. You still wear the ring, and haven't taken it off since that horrible night in the hospital. You can still smell it, the sterile walls and the bleak feeling of hope.

One day when you're babysitting Ron's cousin Marly with him, she asks what happened to you, the bloody lines and bruises on your body, and you tell her the truth because she has a right to know. And then she asks where Ginny is (_I haven't seen her in a long, long time, like a week_). The lump in your throat grows larger, but you keep your tears in check and tell her she's everywhere.

You shock yourself with your honesty. Marly nods, and you know she understands.

People stare at you. In Diagon Alley, on your many trips to Hogsmead with Ron, even in St. Mungo's waiting room when you go for your check-ups. It's that kind of stare where you know people are shocked, startled. Like something sudden had frightened them but they can't look away. In this case, that something is your face. At first, you stare right back at them, as if daring them to say something. They would get unnerved and quickly look away. You thought it was a little too funny and do impersonations of them only around Ron, because he's the only one who lets you. And then, after awhile, you stopped caring…not just about the stares…but about what people thought of you all together.

Ron still loves you, and every once in a while you still hear him sniffle a little when you two are alone and the both of you have nothing to say. You put your hand on his knee and he laces your fingers with his. Together, you've managed to kill a Dark Lord and fall in love, and together, you've managed to move on with your lives and leave Hogwarts behind you. You still miss it, and if you hadn't been trying so hard to avoid it, you would cry.

So one day, you locked yourself in the bathroom, because people have surrounded you for two months, and it was getting old. You unwrapped the bandages, the gauze; everything on every mark this war has branded you with. You had caught glimpses of them, but this was the first time you would ever really look at them. Some were old, some such as the one on your torso and face were still fairly fresh looking, and you knew they would never _really _go away. You were fascinated with the one on your neck, because you hadn't even known you had it until you woke up from the coma, and didn't get your voice back completely for nine days.

And while your examining the scars, and the blue bruises, you get a sense of peace because little by little, in those fragile moments of exploration, you know that you're going to be okay. Ginny's still gone, but that's about the only thing that hurts you. You know that for the rest of your life, when you think of her, you'll always feel that piercing, empty ache in your heart, but you'll smile when you do. This is **your** experience, no one else's, and you can end it good or bad. You hope to end it bittersweet, you were never really very good with choosing black or white.

You know what it's like now to look life in the face.

And you're grateful, **_because you know just how ugly it is to miss out on it._**


End file.
